in his vest of holy trousers turned inward.Stretched bloody naked and attractive,mosquitos did never squat where lovers sweat.But Wittgenstein took me shoulder first, I cleared.

My throat hollow where men before me came never before,and I felt like new names nothing forbade, not especiallythe weak, the calm, the floored, nor the wronged angelssweeping up avenues long given over to party politics.

Seasons twisted upon each other and friendship convulsed.Open arsenals recoiled, the serpent's head spit glass,broken, images priced like art invested no plumage whereasstock sold steadily until there were no other dead issues.

Yet Wittgenstein never operated under served piffle,could repair ugly scar tissue booking redress, obviously lip-synched trade favors; in return the mantled box thumbthugs ruled left to rights, or rights to be left

alone or without someone else's aloneness combinedto equip equations and co-efficients with unreal numbersnumbing outsiders, error friendless but with plenty of food and street wisdom, meaning to write a book.

Where we all appear placed happily eager to be.What to be is all in time and flesh is time.Or trips to the Milky Way vacate shun or be shunned.Like Uncle Sam's son colorfully primed for United States.

But where did Paine fail to speak his mind?His friend broke off penal envy for the sake of forsaking oven roaster birds war bred but blowingoff that same wind Dylan wore, a weatherman's cap.

Did any effort die by the hand of any clock?Management problems rope eye emblems shattering mock success,taxing poets improperly prospering, the plainclothesmen's plan X,and optimums of the classes, share in Baalam's bra,

That these feverish linear progressions plummet to bedrockcup, and yet deliver a single soul from eternal damnationboning up conquerors of Kierkegaard and worshippersof the last breath of Wittgenstein Iâ€™d shouldered enough.

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Quoth the Raven

"Intellectual economics guarantees that even the most powerful and challenging work cannot protect itself from the order of fashion. Becoming-fashion, becoming-commodity, becoming-ruin. Such instant, indeed retroactive ruins, are the virtual landscape of the stupid underground. The exits and lines of flight pursued by Deleuze and Guattari are being shut down and rerouted by the very people who would take them most seriously."